


Time don't mean a thing when you're by my side

by berry



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Dirty Talk, Idiots in Love, M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-06
Updated: 2019-07-06
Packaged: 2020-06-23 14:19:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19703110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/berry/pseuds/berry
Summary: Aziraphale explains that, according to precedents, the body swap will be more effective if he and Crowley have sex beforehand. Crowley is (very) willing to try it.





	Time don't mean a thing when you're by my side

**Author's Note:**

> thanks to tarteaucitron for the beta <3

Back at Crowley’s, following a light supper and a second bottle of wine, Aziraphale was trying to explain what he understood by Agnes Nutter’s final prophecy. Crowley had not previously come across the notion of transcorporation and it was some time since Aziraphale had read the relevant texts, but one aspect of it had lodged quite firmly in his mind.

“For maximum efficacy, there is, ah, an additional step we should take.”

“Angel, if this involves prayer rituals, I’m not sure – “

“No,” Aziraphale cut him off. “No, no. To reiterate, this came from your side. Heaven would hardly have created a mechanism by which bodies blessed by angelic possession could be switched with those despoiled by the, ah, Fallen. Obviously.”

“Oh, _obviously_ ,” Crowley repeated, with some bite.

“Don’t take it so personally, Crowley. It’s not a comment on your body specifically,” Aziraphale said, hoping that his voice wasn’t betraying any of the thoughts Crowley’s body specifically tended to bring to his mind.

“I should think not,” Crowley said, brushing some imaginary lint from his lapel before looking back at Aziraphale. “So, what is it, then? This additional step?”

“Well,” Aziraphale started, then cleared his throat. “Well. According to –,” he waved a vague hand, “precedents and so on, transcorporation works most effectively following a, well, a sharing of the essence.”

Crowley looked at him blankly. “A what?”

“You know, a mingling of the – of the –,“ Aziraphale trailed off. This was ridiculous. Millennia of angelling covering some of the most debauched eras of human history should surely have provided him with comprehensive immunity against a tied tongue in relation to carnal matters. And yet, Aziraphale found himself quite unable to continue. Several painfully long seconds passed before realisation blessedly dawned on Crowley’s face.

“You mean fucking? It works better if we fuck beforehand?” Aziraphale felt himself flush and silently admonished his body for choosing the most inconvenient moments to assert its corporeality.

“Yes. Exactly so,” Aziraphale managed, and watched Crowley’s mouth curve into a grin which, despite recent revelations vis-à-vis the essence of concepts like good and evil, Aziraphale couldn’t help but think of as wicked.

“Now you’re speaking my language. Let’s get on with it, then,” Crowley suggested, leaping up lightly. At Aziraphale’s failure to react, Crowley performed a theatrical sigh, hauled Aziraphale to his feet and, holding him by the wrist, led him directly to the bedroom.

He’d known Crowley would be happy to do it. That was part of the problem. Tempting mortals to engage in pleasures of the flesh was a key demonic skillset, one that Crowley had taken a level of care in perfecting that contrasted sharply with his lacklustre approach to much of the job description. If achieving the best results meant putting his back into it – or any other part of himself into it, for that matter – Crowley was happy to go that extra mile, or so it would seem based on the many, _many_ exploits he had recounted to Aziraphale over the years. Despite having less by way of professional justification for his actions, Aziraphale too had carried out his fair share of experimentation. He was a being made of love, after all. Engaging in acts of love wouldn’t seem to go too far beyond the bounds of propriety when looked at in that (divine) light.

There was an essential professional demand for honesty in the divinity business, however, and the honest truth was that Aziraphale had fallen in love with Crowley several long decades before. A confession was out of the question, of course, due to their essentially conflicting natures – or at least, that was what Aziraphale had told himself. If he had reflected a little more deeply, he might also have acknowledged a confession was unappealing because he recognised his feelings were not requited. Crowley loved him, of course. Aziraphale could sense it now just as he’d been able to sense it ever since the Garden – a strong, steady love, beautiful in its peculiarity. But it was absolutely, manifestly unchanging. Never had there been a time when it peaked or evolved, a time in which it moved beyond that undeniable connection between the only two supernatural beings in the same sphere – there had never been a time, in short, in which Crowley had _fallen in love_ with Aziraphale. Which was fine. Fine! This knowledge Aziraphale had carried lightly since he fell for Crowley in the 1940s. But if they were going to “get down to business”, to use the human idiom, and if they truly were now on their own side rather than loyal to Above or Below, Aziraphale had the nagging sense that Crowley would want to know the truth. A lie of omission was just as much a lie as the commissioned kind.

On the other hand, if they didn’t go through with this, the potential result was torments beyond any previously imagined, followed by annihilation complete and total, for both of them. On balance, Aziraphale thought he would take his chances. The trick was just to get through it without thinking too much, definitely without feeling too much, and most importantly to avoid letting Crowley know he was having any thoughts or feelings whatsoever. Should be manageable, he thought. Crowley surely couldn’t read him that well, after all. 

In a room Aziraphale was carefully not thinking of as a _boudoir_ , Crowley sprawled on his back on the bed, the first several buttons of his shirt undone (which certainly had not been the case previously. Aziraphale would have noticed.) “Come on then. Hop on,” he said, gesturing towards his crotch as if there were the remotest possibility of his meaning being misconstrued.

“Crowley, please. This is no small thing.”

“That’s what she said,” Crowley leered and Aziraphale pursed his lips, forming his face into an expression he hoped approximated an angelic rebuke.

“Oh fine,” Crowley relented, sitting up and drawing his legs back together. “Look, I know how serious this is. You haven’t spent much time around my lot. They make all-out nuclear war look like a teddy bears’ picnic, believe me. And I realise – I do realise – this goes against your angelic code or whatever, but we can do it your way.” _Do it_ , Aziraphale thought helplessly, disproving centuries of theological hypothesis as to the impossibility of angelic self-loathing. He wasn’t sure what his face was doing, but Crowley put both hands out in front of himself in a gesture of supplication. “I promise. Whatever you want.” A short silence followed, whilst Aziraphale fought to gain mastery of himself. This was simply a friend helping another friend avoid a catastrophically awful situation, to their mutual benefit. Sex was simply a series of actions one could perform with a human body. All would be well. Crowley, waiting for Aziraphale to respond, touched the fingers of one hand briefly to his own lips and Aziraphale felt a curl of fire low in his belly. Oh dear. This was going to be _impossible_.

“Okay,” he said. “My way.”

One deep breath later, Aziraphale sat himself neatly beside Crowley on the bed, as close as it was possible to be without touching. Every nerve ending in his body felt incredibly alive. Without first looking at Crowley’s face, he reached across to take one of Crowley’s hands, weaving their fingers together. This they had done countless times, in line with changing human customs for denoting companionship, and Aziraphale was comforted. They were a team, of course, more importantly than anything else.

“I’m going to kiss you now,” Crowley said, and when Aziraphale looked up, Crowley appeared quite serious. Then he smiled. “Not like we haven’t done that before. Do you remember that time –,” he began, before finding his words lost in Aziraphale’s mouth. An abrupt start, Aziraphale would concede, though Crowley didn’t seem to mind, allowing himself to be kissed as Aziraphale curled a hand around the curve of Crowley’s skull. They _had_ done this before, though not, Aziraphale thought, since Ancient Greece. He certainly did not remember it previously feeling like _this_. There was a softness to Crowley’s kiss that Aziraphale did not recall, and a softness to his skin. He had always smelled curiously delicious – Aziraphale had assumed it was wile-related – but never more so than right now, and Aziraphale wondered suddenly if this was what it meant to be abandoned by their respective sides, if they had somehow become more human in the past few hours. It would certainly explain the sound that Crowley made when Aziraphale dug his nails into Crowley’s scalp, a sound that suggested Crowley was somehow wounded, though Aziraphale understood it to mean quite the opposite.

They continued in this way for some time, Crowley’s fingertips dusting across one of Aziraphale’s cheekbones, everything warm and good, until Aziraphale caught Crowley’s bottom lip gently between his teeth, and Crowley made the sound again. They broke apart. Aziraphale was surprised to find his breath coming short, and he wanted to ask Crowley if he felt it too, the humanity, but then Crowley removed his sunglasses, and the tiny distance between their mouths was abruptly unbearable.

“Aziraphale,” he said, but Aziraphale had already leaned forward to kiss him again.

Things continued now with greater urgency. Gradually, Crowley had slumped backwards until he was supine and Aziraphale was partially on top of him. The whole thing was decidedly adolescent, another sensation which Aziraphale was unsure he had ever previously experienced, the novelty adding a new level of delight. Beneath him, Crowley’s body moved, serpentine, and Aziraphale pulled back with a gasp, a burst of electricity shooting through him. Crowley smirked. “Can you feel my – ”

“Interest?” Aziraphale interjected, on some divine impulse. “Oh yes. This whole endeavour is most interesting, so to speak.” Crowley smiled at him, unquestionably fond, and Aziraphale felt so in love that he imagined it radiating out of him to the extent that, even from Tadfield, Anathema would be able to read his aura. He allowed himself the indulgence of lifting a hand and touching a finger to Crowley’s eyebrow, then his cheekbone, then drawing it across Crowley’s bottom lip, swollen now with their kissing, thinking of Crowley touching his mouth with his own fingers a little while before. “Beautiful,” he sighed, before quickly catching himself, feeling panicked. “Beautiful craftmanship,” he improvised, looking finally into Crowley’s eyes.

“Yes,” Crowley agreed, voice oddly flat. “Quite the craftswoman, the Almighty.”

“Let’s not speak of her,” Aziraphale suggested, giving in to the temptation to lean down and kiss none too gently at Crowley’s neck, feeling Crowley’s interest – and his own – rise further in response. He could taste Crowley’s sweat. Had they ever been this close?

“Aziraphale,” Crowley said, breathless in a way that made Aziraphale kiss somewhat harder and press himself against the solidity of Crowley’s thigh. “Aziraphale,” he tried again, putting his hands against Aziraphale’s shoulders to move him back, but something in Aziraphale resisted, wanted to bite Crowley, keep him pinned underneath Aziraphale’s weight. “Aziraphale!” Crowley said sharply, pushing him briskly back. Aziraphale looked at him, feeling quite dazed. “Don’t you think it’s about time we took our clothes off?”

“Oh!” Aziraphale said. He was still wearing his bow tie. “Yes, I suppose that is traditional. A miracle, or…?”

“Absolutely not. Standards, angel,” Crowley said, evidently aiming for sardonic, but there was such greed in the way he reached for Aziraphale’s collar that it couldn’t quite land. It registered as strange, somewhere in Aziraphale’s consciousness, that Crowley, who was always so careful of beautiful earthly things, would pull and grab at Aziraphale’s clothes in this way. But it was a thought far distant from the heart-stopping fact of Crowley’s body being revealed to him piece by piece following the work of their scrabbling fingers. He hadn’t dreamed of this – had used every miraculous power at his disposal to _stop_ himself dreaming of this. Lust, after all, was a sin. But Heaven had recently disavowed itself of Aziraphale, and now there was only Crowley, and only this night. Aziraphale, who for so long had chastised himself for craving even Crowley’s company, the occasional touch of his hand, allowed himself to bask in the heat of desire, and he felt _thirsty_.

Once they were both naked, Crowley propped himself on his elbows and looked directly into Aziraphale’s eyes. “How do you want this to go?”, he asked, voice low and not altogether steady. The flush of his skin was entrancing.

“Oh. The mechanics. Yes, well, I mean, if you want to…,” Aziraphale gestured at himself. Crowley let his head fall back and exhaled hard.

“What do you _want_ , Aziraphale?” he said, almost a shout, and Aziraphale felt again that burning desire to pin Crowley down, to keep him. He placed a hand possessively on Crowley’s hip and watched Crowley’s thighs fall open. The room was too hot. Crowley’s taste was in his mouth. Aziraphale couldn’t speak now but he could finally admit to himself, with a sharp, urgent need, what he wanted. Leaning forward, he pushed a hand into Crowley’s hair, tugging hard. Crowley’s neck was bowed back, body tensed, mouth slightly open, breath stuttering. Aziraphale looked down the full length of him and made a soft sound.

“My friend,” he said, voice hoarse, and Crowley twisted, but Aziraphale’s hand in his hair held him too firm to move much.

“Yes,” Crowley said, taut as a string. “Aziraphale, yes. _Yes_.”

“I don’t know if I can be – ” Aziraphale started, tugging at Crowley’s hair until his mouth formed a moue of pain. “I don’t know if I can – ” Crowley made a hurt noise, body pushing up, against Aziraphale’s own. Decades of need welled up in Aziraphale, threatened to overwhelm him. He wanted to possess Crowley, in a way he had never really known, wanted it with a shocking, consuming force. “Crowley,” he said quietly, realising that he was trembling from the effort of holding himself back. “I don’t want to hurt you.” He released his hold on Crowley’s hair, and sat back, still shaking. Crowley tipped his head forward and met Aziraphale’s gaze. 

"What if I like it when it hurts?"

"I’m not – I don't – "

"Have you never been _fucked_ , angel?" Crowley's eyes blazed, fire trapped by glass, and Aziraphale surged forward. Heaven, hell, death, apocalypse – nothing mattered now but the fact this was Crowley, warm underneath him, hard and lovely and so desperately willing to serve.

It was Aziraphale’s habit to savour, food and books and all the world’s beauty. This, he knew, was something he should savour above all else, something he had longed for and now would have only once. He wanted to savour every touch, every taste, every sensation of Crowley’s skin against his own, but something about Crowley destroyed whatever angelic discipline he had ever possessed. Kneeling back, he used his hands to spread Crowley’s thighs apart and stared hungrily as Crowley’s body jerked. He could feel Crowley watching him. “Speak to me, Aziraphale, tell me what you want,” Crowley demanded, his voice rough with desire, a wildness in him that Aziraphale wanted to believe he was responsible for. He had never seen Crowley like this and yet it was still Crowley, achingly familiar, and all the more maddening for that.

“Oh, you’re so much, this is too much – ”

“Tell me you want this. Tell me you need this, Aziraphale, I know you do, I can feel it.”

Aziraphale’s gaze trailed back up Crowley’s body. “I want _you_ , Crowley, your skin, your smell, your taste, I want – I _need_ – all of it, all of you.” Crowley’s hands were fisted in the sheet at either side of him, and as Aziraphale spoke, Crowley closed his eyes and turned his head, pushing it against the mattress as if he were in pain.

“Don’t – oh, don’t – ”

“I have to – Crowley, I need to – ”

“Please, please, don’t wait, don’t make me wait,” Crowley said, close to a sob, so lovely and so wrecked that Aziraphale was utterly unmanned. He manhandled Crowley around to his hands and knees, glutting himself on the sight of this body that Crowley had cared for, scars that Aziraphale knew the provenance of and others that, horribly, thrillingly, he did not, the absence of wings where Aziraphale knew they could be. Willing himself to channel any heavenly grace that hadn’t been crowded out by the desperate humanity of this moment, Aziraphale eased himself into Crowley, watching Crowley’s head drop down between his shoulders, tension in his spine. Even like this – especially like this – he was beautiful, and Aziraphale murmured to him, soft and sweet.

“Yes, that’s good, you feel so good around me, Crowley, so lovely, you’re so lovely, you’ve always been so lovely.” Crowley groaned, barely moving, until Aziraphale was in to the hilt. He draped himself along Crowley’s back, putting his hands on top of Crowley’s, wanting to touch every inch of his skin. “Tell me if it’s too much, my love.”

“Never,” Crowley breathed, and then “kiss me.” Aziraphale did, or tried to, awkward and hot at that angle, then thrust forward, his mouth at Crowley’s mouth, breathing the same air, drinking in Crowley’s soft, needy sounds. The intensity of Aziraphale’s pleasure was such that he felt unmoored, from the earthly realm and all the others, every aspect of his celestial being acutely focused on the unadulterated adoration he had felt for Crowley for so long. The luck, the incredible _luck_ of sharing this earth and this time with him. Even though it seemed this had not all been part of some ineffable plan, Aziraphale thanked fortune for allowing him Crowley, and for allowing him this, which would be enough, had to be enough. Bliss overcame him, then. Deep inside Crowley, he released, as precedents would term it, his essence.

When he came back to himself, he found that Crowley, still beneath him, was groaning low and constant, his need so obvious that it made Aziraphale hurt. He slowly pulled back and knelt behind Crowley. Using one hand, he spread Crowley’s buttocks apart, needing desperately to see where he had been. Slowly, he took the thumb of his free hand and pressed it inside Crowley’s body with something like reverence. Crowley was swaying gently, a sheen of sweat on his skin.

“Come for me now, Crowley,” Aziraphale murmured, understanding that Crowley needed to hear the words. Crowley did, crying out, and Aziraphale felt it like it was his own body. 

They were quiet for a long time afterwards, lying tangled together, Crowley’s head tucked into Aziraphale’s neck. Everything was – love. Simply love. Aziraphale thought again about Agnes’s prophecy and realised, not like a thunderbolt, but like the gentle warmth of a hot water bottle slowly removing the chill from the blankets in winter, that transcorporation wasn’t the only thing she was talking about. He had to address his own face first.

“Crowley.”

“Mmph.”

“I need to talk to you about something.”

“N’aminute. Tired.”

“Yes, but we don’t have much time.” Aziraphale rubbed his hand across Crowley’s neck. Crowley only pushed his face further into Aziraphale’s skin. Aziraphale closed his eyes, steadying himself, and opened them again. 

“The thing is,” Aziraphale said, gaze trailing down the length of Crowley’s back, “I love you.”

“Very angelic of you.”

“No, not like that. I mean, yes, like that, but also differently. In a human way.” Crowley drew back from Aziraphale’s skin until he was looking up into Aziraphale’s face. Aziraphale wasn’t sure what Crowley saw there, but his eyes widened.

“Angel – ”

“Agnes said we have to take care what faces we choose, and I think she meant that for me. I have to stop hiding my face from you. I know it goes against our natures. I am so very sorry to put you in this position, my dearest friend. But if we survive this, I do hope we can find a way to – well, I really will do everything in my power to minimise any inconvenience this causes you. And we – ” Crowley, who has been frozen throughout the entirety of this awkward confession, abruptly put his hand over Aziraphale’s mouth.

“For the love of humanity, shut up, Aziraphale. Shut _up_.”

“Mmph,” Aziraphale said, a strange calm coming over him at the realisation of his worst fears. Okay, so he would probably have to face the full power of Hell’s might trained against him in the imminent future, and if by something beyond a miracle he survived, he had now alienated his best and only friend and the love of his extensive, immortal life. But still. At least he’d been honest. That was something, wasn’t it? Crowley was scrambling to his knees, his hand still over Aziraphale’s mouth.

“I cannot. I can _not_. Aziraphale – ” And then somehow they were kissing again, long and deep. Not for the first time that day, Aziraphale’s reality tilted, but this part, he definitely did understand.

“Oh,” was all he could think to say.

“Yes, quite. But please, I beg you, I will literally beg you if I have to, don’t say any more. Not today. I can’t bear it, angel. I can’t _bear_ it.”

“Crowley – “

“Aziraphale, I love you. I promise that I love you, but I need you to understand that I _cannot_. So you need to _stop speaking_.” They looked into each other’s eyes for a long moment, before Crowley removed his hand from Aziraphale’s mouth. Aziraphale remained silent. There was nothing, now, that they needed to say. Surviving the imminent retribution of Above and Below would be, well, challenging. But the prospect of _this_ to explore afterwards – that was worth risking hell for.

Further kissing ensued, but Aziraphale knew – as Crowley must also have done – that time was against them, and eventually they lay quietly. Aziraphale listened to Crowley breathing, thinking how marvellous it was, and how strange that he had never noticed before. 

“I’m glad we did this,” Aziraphale said eventually.

“Me too.”

“I think this is the truest expression of divinity.”

“You – oh. I mean, sure, that’s important. But also, more importantly, it was really hot. And it felt great. And those angelic orgasms are truly, genuinely heavenly. I mean, wow. Wow.”

“Thanks,” Aziraphale said, bashful.

“Much like the demonic ones,” Crowley suggested, drawing back from Aziraphale enough to fix him with a wry look, and Aziraphale leaned in to kiss him, long and slow.

“Six thousand years and I did not know it was possible to feel the way you made me feel.”

“Good,” Crowley said, letting his eyes fall closed. “I’ve still got that magic touch.”

“Something like that,” Aziraphale agreed, pulling Crowley slightly closer.


End file.
